VOL. 42.
The Huntingdon Journal
J. R. DURBORROW,
PUBLISHERS AND PROPRIETORS
Office in new JOURNAL Building, Fifth Street.
TIIE HUNTINGDON JOURNAL is published every
Friday by J. It. Drasolutow and .1. A. NASH, under
the firm name of J. R. DURBORHOW 8L CO., at $2,00 per
annum IN ADVANCE, or 12.50 if not paid for In six months
from date of subscription, and $3 if not paid within the
year.
No paper discontinued, unless at the option of the pub
lishers, until all arrearagos are paid.
No paper, however, will be sent out of the State unless
absolutely paid for in advance.
Transient advertisements will be inserted at TWELVE
AND A-HALF CENTS per line for the first insertion, SEW(
♦ND A-HALF CENTS for the second and FIVE CENTS per line
for all subsequent insertions.
Regular quarterly and yearly business advertisements
will be inserted at the following rates :
I
I3ml 6m 9m Iyr I I3ml 6m 19ml I
lyr
110183 501 4 501 5 501 8 001 1 4..011 9 C 0 18 004271 36
2" I 5 00 , 8 011 1 10 00112 001%coll 18 00136 00 50 65
3 " 7 00:10 00114 00118 001 3 i,c01 1 34 00150 00 65 80
4 " 800 14 0(00 001.18 00 1 c 01136 00160 00 80i 100
All Resolutions of Association., Communications of
limited or individual interest, all party annouscemente,
and notices of Marriages and Deaths, exceeding five lines,
will be charged TEN CENTS per line.
Legal and other notices will be charged to the party
having them inserted.
Advertising Agents must find their commission7outside
of these figures.
All advertising accounts are due and collectable
when the advertisement is once inserted. _
JOB PRINTING of every kind, Plain and Fancy Colors,
done with neatness and dispatch. Iland-hills, Blanks,
Cards, Pamphlets, &c., of every variety and style, printed
at the shortest notice. and everything in the Printing
line will be executed in the most artistic manner and at
the lowest rates.
Professional Cards•
DR. J. G. CAMP, graduate of Pennsylvania College of
Dental Surgery. Office 228 Penn Street. Teeth ex
tracted without pain. Charges moderate. [DecT '77-3m
TA CALDWELL, Attorney-at-Law, No. 111, 3rd street.
.11. Office formerly occupied by Messrs. Woods & Wil
liamson. [apl2,'7l
DR. A.B. BRUMBAUGH, offers his professional services
to the community. Office, No 523 Washington street,
one door east of the Catholic Parsonage. [jan4,'7l
1
1 C. STOCKTON, Surgeon Dentist. O ffi ce in Ligister's
111. building, in the room formerly occupied by Dr. E.
J. Greene, Eluntiugdon, Pa. [apl2B, '76.
Glik). B: ORLADY, Attorney-at-Law, 405 Penn Street,
Huntingdon, Pa. [n0v17,'75
GL. ROBB, Dentist, office in S. T. Brown's new building,
U. No. 520, Penn Street, Huntingdon, Pa. [apl2.'7l
I{ C. MADDEN, Attorney-at-Law. Office, No. —, Penn
I{.
Street, Huntingdon, Pa. [apl9,'7l
TSYLVANITS BLAIR, Attorney-at-Law, Huntingdon,
. Pa. Office, Penn Street, three doors west of 3rd
Street. Ljan4,'7l
T W. MATTERN, Attorney-at-Law and General Claim
tl • Agent, Huntingdon, Pa. Soldiers' claims against the
Government for back-pay, bounty, widows' and invalid
pensions attended to with great care and promptness. Of
fice on Penn Street. Dan4,'7l
T S. GEISSINGER, Attorney-at-Law and Notary Public,
Huntingdon, Pa. Office, No. 230 Penn Street, oppo
site Court House. [febs,'7l
(1 E. FLEMING, Attormy-at-Law, Huntingdon, Pa.,
. office in Monitor building, Penn Street. Prompt
and careful attention giTen to all legal business.
[augs,74-6mos
WILLIAM A. FLEMING, Attorney-at-Law, Hunting
don, Pa.. Special attention given to collections,
and all other legal business attended to with care and
promptness. Office, No. 229, Penn Street. [apl9,ll
School and Miscellaneous Books
GOOD BOOKS
FOR THE
FARM, GARDEN AND HOUSEHOLD.
The following is a list of Valuable Books, which will be
supplied from the Office of the Huntingdon JOURNAL.
Any one or more of these books will be sent post-paid to
any of our readers on receipt of the regular price, which
Is named against each book.
. .
Allen's (R L. R L. F.) New American Farm Book $2 60
Allen's (L. F.) American Cattle.. 2 54
,
Allan's R. L . ) American Farm Book 1
Allen's (L. F.) Rural Architecture 1
Allen's (11. L.) Diseases of Domestic Animals 1
American Bird Fancier
American Gentleman's Stable Guide*.
American Rode Crilturist.
American Weeds and Useful Plants 1 75
Atwood's Country and Suburban Houses. 1 50
Atwood's Modern American 'ioinesteade* 3 50
Baker's Practical and Scientific Fruit Culture* 2 50
Barber's Crack Shot*
Barry's Fruit Garden
Belt's Carpentry Made Easy*
Bement's Rabbit Fancier 3O
Bicknell's Village Builder and Supplement. 1 Vol* l2 00
Bicknell's Supplement to Village Builder* b 00
Bogardus' Field Cower, and Trap Shooting* 2 On
Bommer's Method of Making Manures 25
Boussingault , Rural Economy
1 60
Brackett's Farm Talk-* paper, Wets.; c10th.... 75
Breck'e New Book of Flowers 1 75
Brill's Farm-Gardening and Seed-Growing 1 (r 0
Broom-Corn and Brooms paper, Wets.; cloth 75
Brown's Taxidermist's Manual* 1 00
Bruckuer's American Manures..
Buchanan's Culture of the Grapeaud Wine making* 75
Buel's Cider-Maker's Manual*
Buist's Flower-Garden Direct0ry..........„ 1 50
Buist's Family Kitchen Gardener 1 00
Burger' American Kennel and Sporting Field•
Burnham's The China Fowl*
Burn's Architectural Drawing Book*,
Burns' illustrated Drawing Book.
Burns' Ornamental Drawing Books.
Burr's Vegetables of America*
Caldwell's Agricultural Chemical Analysis
Canary Birds. Paper 50 cts Cloth
Chorlton's Grape-Grower's Guide.
Cleveland's Landscape Achitecture*
Clok's Diseases of Sheep*
Cobbett's American Gardener.
Cole's American Fruit Book
Cole'. American Veterinarian
Cooked and Cooking Food for Domestic Animals*— 20
Cooper's Game Fowls* 5 00
Corbett's Poultry Yard and Market*pa.socts., cloth 75
Croft's Progressive American Architectures lO 00
Cummings' Architectural Details lO 00
Cummings & Miller's Architecture* lO 00
Cupper's Universal Stair-Builder 3 50
Dadd's Modern Horse Doctor, 12 mo 1 50
Dadd's American Cattle Doctor, 12 mo 1 50
Dadd's American Cattle Doctor, Svo, cloth* 2 5 0
Dadd's American Reformed Horse Book, e so, cloth 2 50
Dada's Stuck Manual 1 25
Darwin's Variations of Animals A Plants. 2 vole*
[new ed.]
Dead Shot; or, Sportsman's Complete Guide*
Detail Cottage and Constructive Architecture*
De Voe's Mirrket Assistant*
Dinka, Mayhew, and Hutchison, on the Dog*
Downing's Landscape Gardening
Dwyer's Horse 800k*... ...................... ............
Ecuawood on Cranberry
Egglestun's Circuit Riler*.
Egileston's End of the World
Egileston:s Hoosier School-Master.
Eggleston's Mystery of Metropolisville 1
Eggleston's (Geo. C.) A Man of Honor 1
Elliott's Head Gook for Fruit G rowers* Pa., 60c. ; clo 1
Elliott's Hand-Book of Practical Landscape Gar
dening*. e
Elliott's Lawn and Shade Tress* 1 50
E notes Western Fruit-Grower's Guide 1 50
Eveleth's School Hou.. Architecture* 6 00
Every Horse Owner's Cyc10ptedia........... .............
Field's Pear Culture
Flax Culture. [Seven Prize Essays by practical grow
ers ] 30
Flint (Charles L.) on Grasses* 2 50
Flint's Mitch Cows and Dairy Farming* 2 50
Frank Forester's American Game in its Season* 3 00
Frank Forester's Field Sports, 8 vo. 2 vols*. .....
Frank Foresters Fish and Fishing, 100 Engs* 3 50
Frank Forester's Horse of America, 8 vo., 2 vols lO 00
Frank Forester's Manual fur Young Sportsmen. Bvo 3 00
French's Farm Drainage
Fuller's Forest-Tree Culturist
Fuller's Grape Culturist 1 50
Fuller's Illustrated Strawberry Culturist 2O
Fuller's Small Fruit Culturist 1 5 i
Fulton's Peach Culture
Gardner'e Carriage Painters' Manual * 1 00
Gardner's How to Paint*
Geyelin's Poultry-Breeding •
Gould's American Stair-Builder's*
Gould's Carpenter's and Builder's Assistant * 3.1 0
Gregory on Cabbages paper.. 30
Gregory on Onion Raising*
Gregory on Squashes .paper.. 30
Guenon on Milch Cows 75
Guillaume's Interior Architecture*
Gun, Rod, and Saddle*
Hallett's Builders' Specitications*
Hallett's Builders' Contracts* ...
Harney's Barns, Out-Buildings, and 6 00
Harris's Insects Injurious to Vegetation... Plain $4;
Colored Engravings 6 V)
Harris on the Pig
Hedges' on Sorgho or the Northern Sugar Plant*
Helmsley's Hardy Tress, Shrubs, and Plante*
Henderson's Gardening for Pleasure.. ....
Henderson Gardening for Profit
Henderson's Practical Floriculture .
Herbert's Hints to Horse-Keepers
Holden's Book of Birds paper 25c.; cloth..
Hooper's Book of Evergreens
Hooper's Dog and Gun paper 30c.;; cloth
Hooper' Western Fruit Book*
Hop Culture. By nine experienced cultivators
How to get .a Farm and Where to find One ,
Husmann's Grapes and Wine*
Hussey's Home Buildings* ...... .........
Hussey's National Cottage Architecture—. ......
Jacques's Manual of the Garden, Farm and Barn
Yard*
Jennings on Cattle and their Diseases*
Jennings' Horse Training Made
Jcnnings on the Horse and his Disoases*
Jennings on Sheep, Swine, and Poultry*
Jersey, Alderney. and Guernsey Cow*
John Androes (Rebecca Harding Davis)
Johnson's Aow Craps Feed
Johnson's How Crops Gr0w.........
Johnson's Peat and its Uses i
Johnson's Agricultural Chemistry . 1 75
Johnson's Elements of Agricultural Chemistry...—. 1 50
Kern's Practical Landscape Gardening* 1 50
King's Beekeepers' Text Book..Pa.per 40c.........c10th 75
Klippart'a Wheat Plant* . 1 Tr ,
Lakey's Village and Country Houses.
Leavitt's Facts about Peat*
Leuchar's How to build Hot-rfouses
Lewis' People's Practical Poultry Keeper* 1 50
Long's American Wild Fowl Shooting* 2 00
loring's Farm-Yard Club of Jotham* 3 50
Loth's Practical Stair Builder* ... lO 00
Lyman's Cotton Culture 1 50
Manual of Flax Culture*.. 2O
Marshall's Farmer's hand Book* 1 bu
J. R. DURBORROW, - - - J. A. NASH'.
The Huntingdon Journal,
J. A. NASH,
EVERY FRIDAY MORNING,
THE NEW JOURNAL BUILDING,
No. 212, FIFTH STREET,
HUNTINGDON, PENNSYLVANIA,
$2.00 per annum, in advance; $2.50
within six months, and $3.00 if
00000000 A 00000000
0
0 0
0
0 PROGRESSIVE 0
00000000 SUBSCRIBE.' 00000000
gumgg
TO ADVERTISERS
Circulation 1800.
ADVERTISING MEDIUM,
1
The JOURNAL is one of the best
4 00
1 00
1 00
1 00
1 00
300
printed papers in the Juniata Valley,
and is read by the best citizens in the
county, It finds its way into 1800
homes weekly, and is read by at least
5000 persons, thus making it the BEST
advertising medium in Central Pennsyl-
vania. Those who patronize its columns
are sure of getting a rich return for
their investment. Advertisements, both
local and foreign, solicited, and inserted
at reasonable rates. Give us an order.
.... 500
... 1 75
-.. 10 00
... 250
.... 800
6 50
... 200
ugggggg
JOB DEPARTMENT
,
cs
co
C
co
cr
CO
CD
a I
fa.
ml
3 00
1 00
1 75
1 50
7 50
1 50
1 50
1 50
1 75
50
3 (H)
.. 175
... 175
... 1 25
... 1 75
... 1 75
I ho
... 1 50
... 200
COLOR PRI
.... 2 00
sar All business letters should be ad
dressed to
J. R. DURBORROW & CO.,
Huntingdon, Pa.
11. *4' •
rya
he ~• un t in ,d on
ourna
Printing
PUBLISHED
-IN--
TERMS :
not paid within the year
0 0
0 0
0 0
0 0
0
0 REPUBLICAN PAPER. 0
o o 0
o
0 0
0 o
FIRST-CLASS
5000
RE &DEES
WEEKLY,
~iP
•
C$
it
Or
0
R
0
0;
rz ,
C
.1
0.
CD
li
:
ti
43 .
:
t 5
0
tyq
p
E
TING A SPECIALTY. -
Ely Rims' *Wm
Falling Asleep.
Golden head so lowly bending,
Little feet so white and bare,
Dewy eyes, half shut, half opened,
Lisping out her evening prayer.
Well she knows when she is saying
"Now I lay me down to sleep,"
'Tis to God that she is praying,
Praying him her soul to keep.
Half asleep, and murmuring faintly,
"If I should die before I wake"—
Tiny fingers clasped so saintly—
"l pray the Lord my soul to take."
0 the rapture, sweet, unbroken,
Of the soul who wrote that prayer'
Children's myriad voices floating
Up to heaven, record it there.
If, of all that has been written,
If I could choose what might be mine,
It should be that child's petition,
Rising to the throne divine.
The Wolf at the Door.
BY WILL S. HAYS
"Hark! How the merciless cold winds blow;
Mamma, come look at the 'beautiful snow.'
See how the streets are all mantled in white;
I'm looking for papa—he'll come home all right.
0 ! Why are you looking so lonely and sad ?
I know papa drinks, but can't I make you glad?
Come ! kiss me, mamma, and don't weep any
More."
"Hush ! Come to my arms, there's a wolf at the
door."
"Mamma, don't cry, let me kneel at your feet,
We are hungry and cold, and we've nothing to eat.
Look up, and be cheerful, in God put your trust,
If papa is a drunkard, God will not blame us.
Why do you tremble so; wipe off that tear,
The fire is out, but we've nothing to fear,
Let's lay down together and sleep on the floor"
"No ! no! there's no sleep while the wolf's at the
door."
"Oh ! Mamma, God bless you! cheer up all you
can,
Some day 1 may be a good eon and a man,
To bring to your sorrowful heart hope and joy,
If Papa's a drunkard, just think, I'm your boy.
Though he may desert us, there's One left us still
Who'll never forsake us,—no! God never will."
"Hush ! child, there's your father; don't say a
word more.
Great God ! Can't he see there's a wolf at the
door."
Aye ! staggering drunk at that hour so late,
The father stood reeling in snow at the gate.
His barefooted boy, dressed so poorly and thin,
Went out in the snow, and he led "Papa" in.
But just as he entered, he fell to the floor,
And there went forth a howl from the wolf at the
door.
The emblem of death to the door-knob was tied,
A husband—A father—A DRUNKARD had died.
Ely *tug:biter.
ROSAMOND GIFFORD.
"Good bye, mamma, and wish me good
luck, please !"
"Good-bye, Rosamond ; but, as for my
wishes, they can't signify one way or the
other. fin nothing but alorlorn remnant
of the olden time."
Rosamond Gifford turned away from the
cracked mirror in its frame of stained
wood, and went smilingly out in the nip
ping November air—a tall, blooming dam
sel, with deep brown eyes, and a lovely
pink and white complexion whose simple
black alpaca dress set off her fresh beauty,
as an antique vase might relieve a cluster
of full blossomed roses.
"Mamma," said little Helen Gifford, as
she put another shovelful of coals on the
carefully husbanded fire, "do you feel sorry
that Rosa is going to work the sewing ma
chines at the Exhibition ?"
Mrs. Gifford withdrew behind her pocket
handkerchief.
"Ah, child, it's well for you that you
haven't my sensitive feelings !"
"But, mamma, why shouldn't Rosa sew
at the Exhibition fair, just the same as in
the sewing machine room in Oxford street?
Where's the difference, so long as they pay
her for it ?"
hire. Gifford shook her cap borders hys
terically.
"I never thought to see the day when a
Gifford should be compelled to work for a
living—and to work in public, too I I
only wish I had been dead and buried
first ?"
"Mamma, don't !" pleaded poor little
Helen.
"It would have been a great deal bet
ter !" groaned Mrs. Gifford, "I shouldn't
have been in the way,with my old-fashioned
ideas and notions, then ! I hope Sir Walter
Morton sleeps peacefully in his bed—that
is all ! I know I couldn't, if I cheated my
cousin's children out of their inheritance !"
"But, mamma, how was it Cousin Wal-
ter's fault, if the law gave him the estate,
instead of us?"
"Law, indeed ! Nonsense ! When your
poor dear papa always brought me up in
expectation that some day Morton Place
would be ours. And to him step in—a
selfish, domineering, heartless--"
"But, mamma, darling, you have never
seen him."
"If he bad had a solitary instinct of a
gentleman about him, he would have in
vited us all to make our home at Morton
Place for the rest of our days."
Helen lifted her eyebrows shrewdly.
"If we had gained the lawsuit, mamma,
I don't think you would have invited
Cousin Walter to make his home at Mor
ton."
r 4 -1
r:2-!
"Go and get your knitting, Helen,"
said Mrs. Gifford, petulantly.
And Helen silently obeyed.
Pretty Rosamond Gifford cried a little
under her veil, as she hurried along the
streets, because her earnest efforts to gain
a livelihood were so little appreciated by
her mother; but it was nothing more se
rious than the sparkle of a summer shower,
and when she entered the railed off com
partment at the Exhibition, where ber
sewing machines stood, the sweet dimpling
smile had come back to her lips once again.
"You're a little late this morning, Miss
Gifford," was the comment of her employer.
"Two or three people have inquired about
the new patent attachment already."
So Rosamond sat down, heart and hands
alike occupied with the business of the
hour, entirely unconscious that she herself
was the prettiest object ill the place.
Suddenly, the sound of a gentleman's
voice close to her ear made her start.
FP
't
PI
22
02
02
co
4,4
0
"See here, Morton ; you are interested
in this cew improvement if you are going
to supply the industrial schools at your
place with sewing machines. It is really
the best thing out."
And Rosamond, glancing up through
her long eyelashes, saw a tall, well-made
gentleman, with bright brown eyes, chest
nut locks and a grave, pleasant mouth,
and heard him introduced to her employer
as "Sir Walter Morton, of Morton Place,
Staffordshire."
eir-
The vertible Cousin Walter—the mys
terious wonder of her youth and childhood
—and Rosamond felt her heart throbbing
a pulse or two faster, as the brown, clear
eyes fell upon her face.
"Miss Gifford, will you be kind enough
HUNTINGDON, PA , FRIDAY, JANUARY 18, 1878.
to run a strip of cloth through the ma
chine ? Then, sir, you will perceive the
manifest• improvement in this latest attach
ment."
But the stranger was looking, not at the
little silver plate and glancing wheel, but
at the fair, flushed face which bent over
them.
"Gifford !" he repeated slowly. "I have
cousins by the name of Gifford."
"And lam one of those cousins," said
Rosamond, courageously. "There—you
turn this screw a little, and it relieves the
tension at once, thereby improving the
stitch ; for—"
"Allow me to claim relationship, then ;"
and Sir Walter Morton frankly held out
his hand. Rosamond hesitated an instant.
Her mother would have haughtily repulsed
the overtures of friendship ; but she and
her mother had always held different theo
ries on the subject of Sir Walter Morton.
So she put her hand in his.
"I am glad to meet you," said Morton.
"I should have met you before, but a letter
from your mother—
" Yes," said Rosamond, coloring deeply;
"I know bow my mother feels. Shall I
show you about the machines now ?"
"Are you exhibiting them ?"
"Yes, I am earning my own living."
Morton's fine face lighted up.
"And I honor you for it. Yes, you nrty
show me, if you please. lam just order
ing a few for some schools I have estab
lished."
And when Sir Walter Morton took his
leave, the man of sewing machines came
gleefully to Rosamond's side
"Your cousin has ordered a dozen, Miss
Gifford. I wish we had a few more custo•
mers like him."
Sir Walter Morton came again the next
day, to examine into one or two knotty
points respecting the machinery and stayed
until Rosamond got up to put on her shawl
and bonnet.
'You are going home ?" he asked.
"Yes ; Miss Morrison takes my place in
the evening," she replied.
But it is quite dark ; you must let me
see you home."
"Yes ; but—my mother ?"
Morton laughed. "I comprehend. I am
no special favorite with her. But I can
preserve a prudent incognitio. Let me be
Mr. Walters."
And Rosamond, who really was a little
timid concerning that long, lonely walk in
the dusk, and who was beginning to like
and trust her new-found relative, consent
ed.
Mrs. Gifford received the new comer
with stately dignity.
"I'm sure I'm very happy to meet you
sir," she said. "Any friend of Rosamond's
will always be welcome to me, and I only
wish I could receive you in a more fitting
manner. We have not always been what
we are—nor should we be now if law and
justice were anything but mere meaningless
names."
"Indeed !" said Morton, smiling curious
ly, while Rosamond felt as if her face were
all on fire.
"No, sir," said Mrs. Gifford, the bows
on her lace cap quivering with the empha
sis she used. "If we had our rights, we
should have been the Giffords of Morton
Place, and my daughter Rosamond, instead
of exhibiting sewing machines, would have
been sitting in silks and velvets. But we
have been deprived of our rightful inheri
tance by a fiend in human shape, named
Walter Morton. Perhaps you have heard
of the great lawsuit ?"
"I think I have a faint recollection of
it," said Mr. Walters, gravely.
"Mamma," interrupted Rosamond, in a
voice of distress, "these—these family
matters cannot be interesting to a stranger,
and—"
"Excuse me !" said Mrs. Gifford, draw
ing herself up primly. "Of course, lam
in the wrong—l always am—only it isn't
exactly pleasant to be told of it by my own
daughter !"
"Mamma, you know I didn't mean
that !"
But Mrs. Gifford declined to be propi
tiated on any terms, and sat stiff and prim
the remainder of the evening, full of un
spoken reminscences of "the great lawsuit "
"He will never come near us again,"
was Rosamond's regretful thought ; as she
laid her flushed cheeks on the pillow that
night, with little Helen's fragrant breath
mingling with her own.
But Rosamond was mistaken. "Mr.
Walters" did come again, the very next
evening but one ; and again, and yet again !
"You are looking pale, Miss Gifford,"
he said, the last time
"It is one of the misfortunes of our re
duced station in life," Mrs. Gifford sighed,
"that Rosamond is obliged to lead a too
sedentary He!"
"A little walk would bring the roses
back to your cheeks," said Mr. Walters.—
"It is a lovely moonlight night. Will you
come ?"
Mrs. Gifford nodded her sanction.; and
Rosamond put on the tartan shawl and the
little round hat with the redbird's wing in
front, and slipped her arm through that of
her cousin.
"Rosamond," said Sir Walter Morton,
after they had walked a little way in si
lence, "the Exhibition closes to-morrow."
"Yes," said she, regretfully.
"And with it closes your work ?"
"Yes. I wish I could hear of some new
engagement."
Morton drew her arm closer to his.
"I know of one, Rosamond; but I don't
exactly know whether it would suit you."
"What is it ?"
"I want to engage you, Rosamond—to
be my wife."
* * * * * *
Mrs. Gifford had looked up at the clock
half a dozen times, true to her instinct of
always worrying about something, before
Rosamond came back.
"Child !" she croaked, "do you see what
time it is ? Where is Mr. Walters ?"
"He would not come in. He is coming
to see you to-morrow, mamma."
"To see me ! What for ?"
"Mamma, he has asked me to marry
him."
"He is a most gentlemanly person, my
dear," said Mrs. Gifford, smiling and
bridling. "I shall consent with the greatest
pleasure."
"You like him, then, mamma ?"
"Certainly I do."
-Theo, mamma, I may venture to tell
you that he is our cousin, Walter Morton;
that I shall be the mistress of Morton
Place, and that you will reign, in very
truth, in the halls of our ancestors, you
have spoken about so oft,en."
And she laughed and cried, both in one
breath, upon the old lady's neck.
"Bless my soul !" said Mrs. Gifford
dropping her spectacle case and cracking
the lenses right across.
But she made no objection to the "fiend
in human shape," and Miss Rosamond
Gifford soon took to herself another '.local
habitation and a name !"
csritet
The Turk at Prayer.
Twelve o'clock is the hour of prayer.—
, The call of the Muezzin is heard from every
minaret of the hillside and of the valley
beyond, and the faithful—most numerous
in the laboring class, respond to the sum
mons, leaving their work or business to
rub their hands and feet with earth in de
fault of water, according to the injunctions
of the Koran. The writer, on one of his
tours of observation, came to a hillock
covered with fresh blades of grass and
tangled wild flowers ; it stands back from
the pathway, and a poor workman chooses
the spot to perform there his namaz with
out interruption. Tie has no prayer car
pet; he simply turns towards Mecca and
begins his devotions. Every change of
attitude in the Mussulman prayer has a
special meaning, being accompanied by
pious phrases and ejaculations ' • it may
therefore be interesting to note his move
ments, although the murmured words are,
of course, quite inaudible. He stands at
first upright, with his arms hanging down,
and his bale feet a little apart; next the
hands are raised open, on each side of the
face, the thumbs touching the lobe of the
ear ; this is the introduction. The worshiper
begins prayer by placing his hands to
gether, the right uppermost ; then bows
low from the waist, his hands slightly
spread upon his knees, then raises himself
for a moment and afterwards kneels down,
and, with his hands on the ground before
him, touches it with his nose and forehead ;
without rising he then sinks backwards,
(this bowing is performed twice,) after
which he rises in one movement,—his feet
still remaining on the same spot,—and
stands again, his right hand clasping his
left, and all previous attitudes are repeated
four or five times. At one period of his
devotions, the worshiper, sitting back, turns
his head first over the right shoulder and
then over the left, with murmured saluta
tions, supposed to be addressed to the good
and evil angels of his destiny; finally he
stands holding his hands before his face as
if reading, then gently strokes face and
beard, and the namaz is completed; the
poor man slips on his worn old shoes, and
sitting down begins to eat his dinner—a
large lump of coarse, dry bread.— Temple
Bar.
Transient Troubles.
Most of us have had trouble all of our
lives, and each day has brought all the
evil that we wished to endure. But if we
were asked to recount the sorrows of our
lives, how many could we remember ? How
many that are six months old should we
think worthy to be remembered or mention
ed ? To day's troubles look large, but a
week hence they will be forgotten and bar•
ied out of sight.
"If you would keep a book, and every
day put down the things that worry you,
and see what becomes of them, it would be
a benefit to you. You allow a thing to
annoy you, just as you allow a fly to settle
on you and plague you ; and you loose
your temper (or rather get it; for when
men are surcharged with temper they are
said to have lost it) and you justify your
self for being thrown off your balance by
causes which you do not trace out. But
if you would see what it was that threw you
off your balance before breakfast, and put
down in a little book, and follow it out, and
ascertain what becomes of it, you would
see what a fool you were in the matter."
The art of forgetting is a blessed art,
but the art of overlooking is quite as im
portant. And if we should take time to
write down the origin, progress, and out
come of a few of our troubles, it would
make us so ashamed of the fuss we make
over them, that we should be glad to drop
such things and bury them at once in
eternal forgetfulness.
Life is too short to be worn out in petty
worries, frettiags, hatreds, and vexations.
Let us banish all these, and think what
soever things are pure, and lovely, and
gentle, and of good report.
Favors.
If you want to be happy, never ask a
favor. Give as many as you can, and if
any are freely offered, it is not necessary
to be too proud to take them ; but never
ask for or stand waiting for any. Who
ever asked a favor at the right time ? To
be refused is a woeful stab to one's pride.
It is even worse than to have a favor
granted hesitatingly. We suppose that out
of a hundred who petition for the least
thing—if it be even an hour of time—
ninety nine wish, with burning cheeks and
aching hearts, they had not done so. Don't
ask favors of your nearest friend. Do
everything for yourself until you drop,and
then if any one picks you up, let it be of
his own free choice, not from any groan
you utter. But while you can stand, be a
soldier Eat your own crust, rather than
feast on another's dainty meals; drink cold
water rather than another's wine. The
world is full of people asking favors, and
people tire of granting them. Love or
tenderness should never be put aside, when
its full hands are stretched towards you ;
but as few love, so few are tender, that a
favor asked is apt to be a millstone around
your neck, even if you gain the thing you
want by the asking. As you cast your
bread on the water, and it returns, so will
the favor you ask, if unwillingly granted,
come back to you when you least expect or
desire. Favors conceded upon solicitation
are never repaid. They are more costly
in the end than overdue usurers' bills.
The Medicine of Sunshine.
The world wants more sunshine in its
disposition, in its business, in its charities,
in its theology. For ten thousand of the
aches and pains and irritations of men and
women we recommend sunshine. It soothes
better than morphine, it stimulates better
than champagne. It is the very best
plaster for a wound. The good Samaritan
poured out into the fallen traveler's gash
more of this than of oil. Florence Night
ingale used it on the Crimean battle fields.
Take it into all the alleys, on board the
ships, by all the sick beds Not a vialful,
not a cupful, not a demijohnful, but a
great, big, hearty soulful I It is good for
spleen, for liver complaint, for neuralgia,
hysteria,rheumatism,fallen fortunes,"minds
diseased" and for melancholy. After all,
perhaps heaven itself is mere sunshine, as
we are told there is "no night there."
"MY soN, remember that your character
ought to shine brighter than your booth."
"Suppose I blacken it, then, fa.ther 7"
NOTHING in this bleak world is easier to
start and harder to stand than a boil or a
daily paper.
The New Year.
BY GEORGE W. BUNGAY
Silent and white,
Thro' the dim night,
Fell the soft snow,
Now fast, now slow,
Making the posts
Like sheeted ghosts;
Robing the woods
In finer goods
Than ever were spun by mortal skill,
And bleached on the sunny side of the hill,
Where fringes are woven by weavers,where
The warp is mist, and the woof is air;
The world is dressed like a bride in white,
Although the poor old year died last night.
Drop not a tear
On the cold bier
Of the brave year,
Whose corse is here.
his work is done,
And battles won,
And he will be
Named with the free,
Thro' future time,
For deeds sublime.
We welcome here
The new born year.
The snow that falls
From the gray walls
Of the thick clouds,
Is not for shrouds
For the days fled,
Or the days dead.
'Tis the white fleece,
Emblem of peace,
Sent down to cheer
The softyoungyear.
May not red vein
Make a red stain
On the robe white,
Woven last night.
So, ring the soft,
Sweet bells aloft.
Ring the true chime
Of the good time ;
Ring loud and clear
For this New Year.
By Request.]
Leaving Property in Trust.
It has become very customary in this
country for a father who has children and
has property, to leave tiis property in trust
for his children. There are extreme cases
in which such a course is the dictate of
prudence, and is indeed essential for the
preservation of the property to the uses of
those for whose benefit it is intended ; but
generally the preceding is adopted without
sufficient cause. It often results frcm a
selfish and mean feeling—an unwillingness
that the wealth which the testator has ac•
cumulated should pass—so long as that can
be prevented—into the absolute control of
any other person. The property which
the giver would fain take with him if he
could—but cannot—is given in such a way
as to do the least possible good. It is
hampered and tied up in every conceiva
ble way. The full enjoyment of it is put
off to the next generation.
It was a very interesting anecdote which
Mr. Tilden related at a dinner party, a
few evenings since, of Martin Van Buren.
Mr. Van Buren sent for Mr. Tilden to
consult him about a will which he had
drawn up, creating certain complicated
trusts. Mr. Tilden suggested that it was
hardly worth while to try to be wiser than
the law, anl to trust grandchildren whom
one did not know. In consequence of this
advice Mr. Buren wisely altered his
will.
The meanness toward children some•
times extends far beyond depriving them
of the inheritance which would be theirs
under the law,and is carried to the extreme
of placing upon enduring public records a
father's displeasure toward his offspring.
An example of this occurred but a short
time ago. A wealthy merchant of this
city, who died abroad, not content with
leaving only a pittance, and that in trust,
to his son, was mean enough to incorporate
in his will a catalogue of that son's sup
posed vices. If a rich father is not willing
to leave a son his lawful share of the prop
erty he has accumulated, he might at least
have the decency to take his departure
without leaving behind him a shower of
curses, rained down on that son's head.
The memory of such an unnatural father
and heartless man deserves to be execrated.
Trustees are apt to turn out incompetent
or dishonest. It is seldom they take as
good care of property as would be taken
by those for whom they hold it. If you
have anything to give it is almost always
safer and better to give it directly to the
person for whose benefit it is intended.
The Battle Fields of Virginia.
The battle-fields around Richmond are
quiet meadows now, reclaimed by Nature,
with few signs of the days of "blood and
iron." At Cold Harbor. Fair Oaks, Seven
Pines, and Malvern Hill, one sees little to
remind him of the terrible scenes enacted
there twelve and fifteen years ago. In the
woods and on the hill sides and river
bluffs on the Peninsula, where no attempt
has been made to cultivate the land, slo
ping earthworks are still to be seen, but
elsewhere the entrenchments have been
leveled. Below Petersburg there are a
few traces even of such formidable fortifi
cations as Steadman, Hell and Damnation.
The Crater and the fields around it are
owned by Mr. Griffiths, who was born
close by, and was in Petersburg when the
mine was fired. He has built a house
near the Crater, and now has his father's
farm under excellent cultivation. The
Crater itself has been left almost untouch
ed, and a thick underbrush of peach trees
and sprouts have sprung up from the pits
thrown away by the soldiers during the
siege. The ravine where the dead lay in
great heaps on that terrible morning, has
been brought under the plough year after
year, until now only a slight depression in
the field can be pointed out. The visitor
has to pay twenty five cents for a glimpse
of the Crater and the interior of a shed
stocked with battle relics.
Rest for the Mind.
When the daily occupation is monoton
ous and unengrossing, a full supply of ex
citement for the leisure hours may be de
sirable ; but where the mental powers
have been taxed to their utmost through
the hours of labor, it is absolutely neces
sary to health and happiness that they be
entirely released for at least a portion of
the time that is left. It is not enough
that the usual amount of time be spent in
the absolute rest of sleep, if every waking
hour be filled to the brim with eager seri
ous occupation. It is not enough that
certain hours be secured, free from abso
lute work, if they are still permeated with
energetic thought, intense feeling or exci
ting pleasures. The mind needs rest from
effort in its waking hours, a time when it
may rightly lay aside its activity and enjoy
being acted upon by calm and gentle influ
ences.
"Dl°Tuza, mother, I saw the Prince of
Wales out riding, and he spoke to me."
"What did be say, darling ?" He said get
ont of the way, you nasty, little black
guard."
Caste.
BY HAZEL WOOD.
"From the gilded saloon to the bier and the
shroud.
Oh, why should the spirit of mortal be proud!"
"Harry Arnold is what they call a rising
man in this place," said Louise Merrion
to her sister Katherine, who was standing
in the window watching the October wind
stripping the leaves offthe trees.
_ _
Katherine turned from the window with
that proud, disdainful expression of coun
tenance which came naturally to the Mer
rions.
"A rising men, working I presume, on
a capital equal to a sum that I should
think nothing of spending on a season's
dresses," said Katherine Merrion, her
voice fairly tinkling with scorn.
"Now, my dear sister, you needn't turn
on me so fiercely. I'm not advising you
to marry him—far from it. He, perhaps,
might do, but our family could never think
of recognizing that ignorant old couple,
his father and mother, as connections."
Katherine turned to the window again
as these words fell from her sister's lips.—
There was an expression of acute pain on
her face, and she secretly clutched at the
casement fur support.
"But I do feel sorry for the man," con
tinued Louise, rising from the sofa, where
she had been lolling. "He is so whole
souled, so earnest."
"Howe'er it be, it seems to Lae,
'Tis only noble to be good;
Kind hearts are more than coronets,
And simple faith than Norman blood."
But, then, this is a queer world. We
cannot do as we would always; but you
might have found another heart than his
for a summer's pastime, Katherine. It was
not to-day, nor yesterday, you learned that
he was no fitting mate for a Merrion, that
his manners had not that repose which
stamps the casts of Vere de Vere ;" and
Louise swept from the room, thinking that
she had fully discharged her duty iu giving
her younger sister a piece of her mind.
When the door closed behind Louise,
Katherine Merrion turned from the window,
staggered rather than walked to the sofa,
and fell, face downward. She struggled
for breath. The oppression around her
heart, the terrible suffocating sensation
that troubled her so much of late was upon
her now.
She lay for some moments with her face
buried in the pillow, then rising, she
walked up and down the length of the
room, with her hand pressed over her
heart.
"Oh, Heaven ! this excitement is killing
me !" she said to herself. "If we were
only going back to town to day instead of
to morrow. I have a presentment that it
would ward off some terrible calamity. If
the ball to-night were only over. How can
I meet him again ? He knows we are
going away to-morrow. To-night, I feel
it, he will tell me that he loves me, per
haps ask me to be his wife—ask, me, a
Merrion ! How quickly Louise saw through
the plea of poverty ! Oh, how every word
she uttered pierced my heart, and yet
every word was true ! I. never could
recognize his relations, and he himself has
not the polish of the men of our set. Ah,
if Louise only knew the truth. Instead
of him, she would pity me."
Night came, and there was a gathering
of "fair women and brave men." Music
and mirth filled the grand saloon where
Katherine Merrion, in flashing jewels and
costly raiment, reigned the fairest of the
fair.
The carnation of her cheeks and lips
were deeper than usual to-night, and her
eyes shone like diamonds. Little her ad
mirers dreamed that she was laboring under
some terrible excitement. Outwardly she
appeared the gayest of the gay, inwardly
she was like one awaiting doom, and it was
at hand.
"Miss Merrion, will you walk with me
on the veranda ? You are going away
from us to-morrow. I will not have
another opportunity to speak with you
alone ?"
The speaker was a handsome, reserved
man of some five and thirty years—a man
whom you could tell at a glance was out of
place amidst all this gaiety and splendor,
and were it not for Katherine Merrion we
would not find Harry Arnold here.
An awful change came over Katherine
as she listened to these words. The gray•
ness of death o'erspread the face that but
a moment ago was flushed with the warm
blood of life. She looked up at the hand
some grave face of the man before her, and
tried to speak.
"Katherine—Miss Merrion, are you ill?"
"No," she faintly gasped, "but I cannot
go. I know what you would say—l love
you, Harry Arnold—"
There wasa gurgling sound in her throat,
and before he could realize it, Katherine
lay stretched upon the floor at his feet.
The queen of the evening had fainted.
There was a general confusion. Everybody
was running for restoratives, and the ladies
tendered smelling salts in abundance. But
restoratives were applied in vain. Lathe
rine Merrion was dead !
And it was well. Ir. her future there
was not a ray of hope, and Henry Arnold
only knew that she had loved him, and he
was faithful to her memory.
"All children of the same dear God are
equal in the faith at last," and Katherine
Merrion with her caste, and pride, and
beauty was, in common with earth's poorest
daughter, "heir but to some six feet of
sod."
"Dumb."
I can hardly express to you how much
I feel there is to be thought of, arising
from the word"dumb" as applied to animals.
Dumb animals ! What an immense exhor
tation that is to pity. It is a remarkable
thing that this word dumb should have
been so largely applied to animals, for in
reality, there are very few dumb animals.
But,doubtless,tbe word is often used to con
vey a larger idea than that of dumbness,
namely, the want of power in animals to
convey by sound to mankind what they
feel, or, perhaps, I should rather say the
want of power in men to understand the
meaning of the various sounds uttered by
animals. But as regards those animals
which are mostly dumb, such as the horse,
which, except on rare occasions of extreme
suffering, makes no sound at all, but only
expresses pain by certain movements indi
eating pain—how tender we ought to be
of them, and how observant of these move
ments, considering their dumbness. The
human baby guides and governs us by its
cries. In fact it will nearly rule a house
hold by these cries, and woe would betide
it if it had not this power of making its
afflictions known. It is a sad thing to re
flect upon, that the animal, which has most
to endure from man,is the one which has the
least powers of protesting by noise against
any of his evil treatment.—Arthur Helps.
For the JOURNAL.]
Pure.
BY S. E. GRZGORY
Purity : Freedom from guilt, or the de
filement of sin; innocence : chastity; as,
purity of heart or life. Purity is a most
noble and excellent trait. There is no
slavery so base as that whereby a man be
comes a drudge to his own lusts, nor any
victory so glorious as that which is obtain
ed over them. All impure delights bare
a sting in them and produce trouble and
pain and leave a burdened mind. Excess
and intemperance and all inordinate lusts
are enemies to the body as well as to the
soul. If we would occupy the mind more
with the affairs of religion and the future
life,' the love of this world would fast dis
appear from our sight.
Our intentions should be pure. If a
man visits his friend and watches at his
pillow for charity's sake and because of
his old affection, we approve it; but if he
does it in hope of a legacy he is a vulture,
and only watches for the carcass.
Read the story of the good Samaritan
and learn the purity of his intentions, and
he that does the same for a disciple in the
name of a disciple shall have a crown, but
if be give water in despite when the disci
ple needs wine or cordial, his reward shall
be to want that water to cool his tongue.
Holy intentions are to the actions of a Mil
that which the soul is to the body, or the
sun to the world, or the root to the tree,
or the fountain to a river. A pare heart
is a heart free from all bad desires and in
clined to conform to the Divine will in all
things. Any one, in order to become a
christian, must have his heart purified.
How can this be done? Water is an em
blem of purity, as our flesh can be bathed
with water and cleansed from all impuri
ties, so may our souls be washed in the
blood of the Lamb, and cleansed or puri
fied from Fin.
The heart is the seat or foundation of
a.. sin, and that being so we must first
make the fountain pure so the stream will
be pure. They, and they alone, are truly
blessed whose hearts have been washed
from the pollutions of sin. In parity and
holiness God delights, and without this no
man did or ever shall see God. Ist John
3d and 3d says, "And every man that bat
this hope in him purifieth himself even
as he is pure." This I understand to
mean when a man is converted or born of
God be does not sin; or in other words,
the Lord does not impute sin to him.
For we know that "whosoever is born of
God sinneth not; but that be that is be
gotten of God keepeth himself and that,
wicked one toucheth him not." And
again-, the man who is washed from all his
impurities and is soundly and scripturally
converted knows it, and when asked, "Nave
you been born again ? Are you a acow Cr . eip .
tuie ? Do you enjoy religion ? Are you
ready to die ? Are you converted ?" does
he answer, hope I enjoy religion. I
hope my name is written in the Lamb's
Book of Life." No, he doesn't reply in
any such manner. He knows it. Yes, he
KNOWS it. "For the Spirit of God bear
eth witness with his spirit that he is the
child of God." Let us read the story of
the blind man. •
A blind man named Bartimeus sat by
the way-side begging, and when he was
told "Jesus of Nazareth passeth by" he
began to cry out, "Jesus, thou Son of
David, have mercy on me." The multi
tude told him to be silent. But be cried
the more, a great deal, saying, "Thou Sots
of David, have merry on me." And Jesus
stood still and called him and said, "what
wilt thou have me to do for thee ?" And
he answered, "Lord, that my eyes may be
open." And Jesussaid,''thy faith bath made
thee whole." And immediately be could
see and he followed Jesus praising God for
what he had done for him.
We all have many temptations to over
come. They try our faith and strengthen
us. I have a minister in my mind's eye
who will not allow his children to go out
side the house or yard for fear they will
be contaminated with the corrupting influ
ences of other children. I, myself, do net
believe in children running wild or asso
ciating with whom they please. But list
en what he says : "I don't want my chil
dren ever to see vice." All very well,if it
could be done, but the thing is impossible.
If you attempt to preserve a man from
danger by keeping him out of it you will
render him unfit for any style of life.
On the other hand there are pareets
who do not care what kind of company
their children keep, nor the kind of books
they read. Reading bad books \ "--has a
tendency to vitiate the mind as much as
keeping bad company. And the bey or
girl who delights in fictions or stories of
vulgarity, shame and murder, certainly has
bad thoughts and an impure mind. Stich
a one recalls to my mind a certain bird
that will not eat anything that is clean,
but whose food consists of putrid flesh, oor
ruption and cairion.
Our re,igion should be pure. The man
whose religion is pure must keep himself
unspottedifrom the world. It's hard to
live in the world and not be of the world.
But this can be done
We may travel a bad road without sit
ting down in the mud. There are souln'al
who cannot be purified except by severe 4.i
trials and sufferings. Then submission in, L i
the surest way of deriving their benefits.
God has promised to be with His people iu
their afflictions. He has promised to sup
port them under their afflictions, and He
has promised to deliver His people out of
their afflictions, and after their toiling,
suffering and bleeding, there will come an
hour in which the purified soul can say,
"it is finished." Atter that, "Eye bath
not seen, nor ear heard, nor the heart of
man conceived the joys that begin never
to end."
ALEXANDRIA, PA.
Alcohol's Harvest.
There are 140,000 drinking saloons is
this country, and 128,000 schools. Mann.
factarers and sellers of strong drink,
560,000, or about four times the number
of teachers. in these saloons there are
5,600,000 daily customers, one in eight of
our whole population. Of these 100,000
are annually imprisoned for crime, th
expense of 890,000,000, and 150,000 ga
down to drunkards' graves,leavieg 200,000
beggared orphans. Grasp these there,.
A file of men sixty miles in length ms b.
ing steadily down to the grate ; sore than
400 every day throughout the year. As
this year's 160,000 go down, another 1500
000 is presaiug in to fill their places„ „
another back of that, and another, polities
down from every hamlet and hind& tin
the country. Many there are wbo wwaid
turn aside from these racks hewer,
and reform, but for the semi% hopeless •
ness of the effort; so firmly are they held
in the inexorable bonds of habit.
NO. 3.